


And Now I Must Quit You

by ShewasXena



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: (Implied Tallster), Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Reconciliation, Slow Burn, This ends with a wedding, What we have here is a project that started small then I became overly ambitious
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:55:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27238411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShewasXena/pseuds/ShewasXena
Summary: *Arrested Development narrator voice* "He did not."Edmund Hewlett finds himself adrift after his broken engagement with Anna Strong. But when Anna seemingly pulls him back into her life, the two realize that their romance may be far from concluded.
Relationships: Caleb Brewster/Benjamin Tallmadge, Edmund Hewlett/Anna Strong
Comments: 28
Kudos: 12





	1. The Fawn

Anna wove her way around the large puddles dotting the muddy York city streets. Drunk redcoats stumbled past her singing a drinking song she’d heard hundreds of times before in her own tavern. 

_Jolly mortals fill your glasses_

_Noble deeds are done by wine_

_Scorn the nymph and all her graces_

_Who’d for love or beauty pine_

She could smell the heavy, familiar stench of spirits on the group as they passed by. A brutal interruption to the chilly sea air. She watched the group stumble past then turned her gaze from whence the group had come; a small coffeehouse with a freshly painted sign that read _Rivington’s Corner._ Anna pulled her cloak closer to her person, willfully ignoring the chill running down her spine, knowing full well that it wasn’t from the cold. She pressed onward to the coffeehouse.

When she reached the door, she stopped, taking a moment to peer inside.The coffeehouse had a comfortable atmosphere, with dark wood paneling, neatly polished chairs and tables and a roaring hearth that cast a warm light on the whole scene. She could see the barkeep reading a newspaper behind the bar. Though she had never been to the coffeehouse, she knew the identity of the man: Culper Jr. She would have to take care to not give him away. But seeing as he didn’t know _her_ , it would be an easy job. She surveyed the rest of the coffeehouse. Officers sat together, huddled over their libations, speaking of the war, the cold, or perhaps what they were missing back home. Only one officer sat alone. His back to the door, giving away nothing of what could be going through his mind. 

As Anna stared at the cherry red fabric of Edmund’s uniform, an ache bubbled up in her chest and she briefly considered turning back, telling Ben that a blockade had prevented her from seeing Edmund. It was a foolish thought, she knew, she had caused Edmund enough pain already, broken too many of her promises. She couldn’t do it again. She took a deep breath then entered the coffeehouse and was immediately embraced by the warmth inside. The smell of coffee, roasted meat, and smoke hung heavy in the air. It would have been a comforting ambience in any other circumstance. 

Two guards, both armed, rose up from a table nearby and barred her path.“This is an establishment intended for officers of the crown, madame. You’ll have to turn back.”

“I have a pass.” Anna held up the somewhat crumpled paper.

One of the soldiers took her pass and delivered it to a neatly dressed officer seated at the bar. The officer, upon noticing Anna, gave her a flirtatious grin, then donned a pair of spectacles. He studied the pass. “You are here at the request of Major Hewlett then?” 

“I am.” 

He handed the pass back to Anna. “Everything seems to be above board. And who am I to bar entry to a woman as lovely as yourself?” He got up from his stool. “Allow me to speak with the major.” 

Anna nodded. “Thank you very much.” 

The officer winked. “It is no trouble.” Then turned and strolled toward Edmund's table. 

Anna watched, breathlessly, as the officer exchanged what appeared to be a one-sided dialogue with Edmund, then signaled her over. She took a step forward then another; wondering with each step if the earth would have the decency to swallow her up before she reached the table. Then Edmund stood and turned to face her. 

Her mouth went dry. “Major Hewlett.” 

“Mrs. Strong.” 

She prickled at the austere formality of their greeting; gone were the days of Christian names lovingly spoken in soft voices. 

Edmund motioned to the chair across the table from his own. “Shall we sit?”

Anna took stock of the room full of British officers, once again. Suddenly feeling quite sheepish at the idea of conducting spy business and, furthermore, baring her soul to Edmund in such a populated room. “May we speak privately?” 

His expression hardened. “Anything you have to say to me can be said here.”

Anna’s heart flopped round in her chest at the sudden bluntness. To force her to speak of such private matters in a public forum was a sign of considerable distrust on Edmund’s part but, she supposed, the distrust was well founded from his perspective. She gave Edmund a reluctant nod. 

They sat down, shrouded in an awkward silence. Anna unclasped her cloak and let it slide down her shoulders and onto the chair behind her, exposing the low decolletage of her dress. She took notice of Edmund’s gaze, briefly tracing along her collarbone then bashfully redirecting to his wine glass on the table. 

It was Anna’s turn to study Edmund now. In the shadows of the coffeehouse, he looked just as he had in Setauket: clean, proper. “You look well.” 

“Well, looks can be deceiving, as you know.” This stung. Anna tried her best to absorb the blow. 

Edmund continued, “ I'm still an officer, but it's merely a formality. I'll be cashiered once I make it back to England.” 

This blow, Anna was not ready for. She stared at him, struggling to hide her surprise. “I hadn’t realized you were leaving.” 

Edmund gave a dry, joyless chuckle. “It was the next logical step, really. There isn’t any reason for me to remain here.” The two stared at each other; the brutal honesty of the statement had done away with any attempts at pleasantries. There was nowhere left to hide. 

“It...it wasn’t my aim to disgrace you.” 

“Yes, it was. In order to save me. You knew that the judge would challenge the authenticity of the divorce. But how did you know I would take the blame?” There was something about the manner in which he stated the question that made Anna think he had thought about it many times. 

She found the answer came easy. “Because of who you are.” 

“The kind of man that can’t beat Simcoe.”

Anna was taken aback at the mention of Simcoe, “No-” 

“I could have taken him. I took him before.” 

“I wasn’t protecting you from Simcoe.” Anna, in truth, hadn’t expected this confession to come from her mouth. She hadn’t thought she'd have the courage to admit to it. But the true culprit didn’t deserve anonymity. “It was Abraham, he was plotting to kill you.” 

Edmund frowned. “Why didn’t you warn me?” 

Anna wrung her hands beneath the table; letting out an unsteady breath. “Because I was a spy, too.” She looked up at Edmund, and to her horror, saw an expression not unlike the one she saw on their wedding day; an expression of total dismay and betrayal. She persisted, “I had to choose between the two of you and I-I found a third way. I figured it was better for you to fall on your own sword than to truly perish on his.” She immediately regretted her choice of words, the unintended acrimoniousness of it. The whole affair took her back to when she was a girl. She and Abe had found an injured fawn in the judge’s field. She took it home to her mother, weeping, begging her mother to help her care for the thing. Her mother begrudgingly obliged. The fawn recovered and grew strong once again. But it grew attached to Anna and Anna to the fawn, her mother had to sit her down and tell her that it was not a natural thing. That the fawn needed to live where God intended it to. Anna had to drive the poor thing away, throwing rocks, shouting, crying her eyes out all the while. The fawn eventually ran off, but Anna spotted it some time after, a little more grown up with other deer, much to her own relief. She felt like that young girl again, sniffling and shouting at the fawn. 

Edmund forcefully set his cup on the table. “You’ve played me for a fool. When you jumped out of that boat, I thought it was out of loyalty...” 

“It was, for my country,” she said, “and for Abe.” She was only telling the truth of the matter. He deserved the truth in its total, or so she told herself. “At first, I encouraged your affections to protect him,” she suddenly found herself holding back a sob, hot tears cloud her vision, “But as you and I grew closer, I discovered you were a man of honor, of intellect, of kindness.” 

“Why did you come here?” 

“To give you the truth.”

“I mean, why were you _sent?_ ” 

The venom in Edmund’s voice startled Anna. “Look around, Edmund. You could have me arrested,” and suddenly she couldn’t keep back the sob that had gradually been rising in her throat. She gasped,“I chose to tell you this on my own accord and against my orders because I cannot tell another lie to a man who never lied to me.” A rogue tear slid down her face; she didn’t bother to wipe it away. 

She could see tears welling up in Edmund's eyes as well. His gaze was fixed on the fire behind her, as if he couldn’t bear to look at her then, it would be too agonizing. Finally, when his eyes did meet hers, she felt her heart shatter all over again. “Did you ever love me?”

Anna found herself struck dumb. It wasn’t fair, to her mind, to have her answer such a question. He was leaving for England. What good would it do to declare her love for him there in an officer's coffeehouse? It wasn’t fair to either of them. But he deserved an answer. One that wouldn’t break both their hearts. “When I proposed we leave America and marry...I meant that,” she said in a discordant whisper. 

Edmund blinked back his own tears. “Answer my question, did you ever love me?” 

She stared at him, another tear slowly making its way down her face. Every part of her screamed to say, “ _Yes! Of course, I did! How could you ever doubt me?!”_ She worried the words would appear hollow to him; a disingenuous attempt at comfort. It wasn’t fair. She tried to speak, to say anything at all, but if she spoke again she feared she would only be able to sob. 

Edmund sighed. His features looked severe, tragic even, in the light of the fire. “We were both swept up by our passions. I, by my infatuation with you, and you by your love for a married man.” 

Anna wanted to scream at the very implication that her feelings for Abe equated her feelings for Edmund but she said nothing. Edmund continued after a beat,“It is good that you've quit Abraham. And now...I must quit you.” He stood, and, without a second look, departed from the coffeehouse.

Anna remained seated, unable to manifest the strength to leave. Tears flowing freely, she rested her face in her hands and sobbed quietly to herself. It occurred to her that the officers around her must have thought this behavior quite odd, hysterical even. She took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself then removed her hands from her face. She found Culper Jr himself staring down at her.

“My apologies, um?” She said with a sniffle.

“Robert Townsend, madame.” 

It was odd to hear the true name of another member of the ring. Particularly one she’d heard so much about from Abe. “Mr. Townsend, I do apologize for my behavior. I know this is a place of discussion, not tears.” 

Townsend chuckled. “You’d be surprised.” He set a cup before Anna. “You seem to be a lady in need of a nip of wine.” 

Anna couldn’t help but laugh as she wiped away a stray tear. “I don’t have the money to pay for it.” 

Townsend shrugged. “Consider it gratis, a sort of medicine to ease the pain.” He motioned to the chair across from Anna. “I am sure you would like to be alone, but, would you be so gracious as to indulge me for a moment of your time? ” 

Anna hesitated, wondering if it was wise, two continental spies sitting together in a coffeehouse filled with British officers. But the loneliness of her predicament and the gentle, unassuming quality of the man was comforting to her. “By all means.” 

Townsend sat down. He studied her for a moment. “You know,” he said finally, “Major Hewlett is a frequent patron here, I’m quite fond of him, in truth. But I don’t believe that I’ve seen such a melancholic man before in my life. I often wondered what troubled him so. But now I see it was a matter of the heart.” 

Anna was struck by the quiet boldness of the man. “It is a private matter...now concluded.” She took a long drink of her wine.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” 

Anna sighed. “Perhaps it was inevitable. I don’t know.”

“Well, as long as you’ve said your piece, that’s all that truly matters,” Townsend mused. 

“Why do you say that?” 

He shrugged. “I suppose, in the Quaker faith, candor is greatly valued. We endeavor to live our lives true to ourselves and those we love, and, not only by being honest, but by telling those around us the ultimate truth in each circumstance.” 

Anna nodded. “It’s a noble sentiment.”

“And a useful one.”

Anna hugged her arms around herself. “There were things I didn’t say to Ed--Major Hewlett.” She looked to her fellow spy. “I was afraid to say them.” She found herself searching for guidance from a man she’d only just met. But the notion that they were both keeping secrets allowed her a sense of trust. 

He meditated for a short while. “I’ve often found that, whether I wanted the ultimate truth of things or not, it has found me. And I’ve been all the better for it. But it is your choice, ultimately.” 

He was correct, she knew that. She had already made the choice to give Edmund the truth. Why hold back? To save themselves from pain when they had already been so thoroughly damaged? It was a foolish notion from the start. She realized there was nothing from preventing her from offering up _her_ ultimate truth except the fear of pain that was already inflicted.

She finished off her wine then gathered her cloak. “Thank you, Mr. Townsend. You’ve an enlightened spirit.” 

“I hope to someday,” Townsend quipped. 

Anna rested a hand on his shoulder. “It won’t be long in that case.” And with that she turned and disappeared into the frigid evening. 


	2. Melancholy is the Nurse of Frenzy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tragically, last chapter I did not express my gratitude to my wonderful beta reader 'ASheepsLife'. So I shall remedy that here: a very special thank you to 'ASheepsLife', who has been nothing but supportive and helpful in reading my nonsense words.

Edmund started out walking from the coffeehouse with the destination of his quarters in mind but, as he wound through the dark, busy streets, found himself drifting away in thought. It wasn’t long before he was lost in the labyrinthine burnt husk of what had once been west Manhattan. Brick buildings, the scorched bones of an unoccupied York city, stood dark and imposing against the starry sky, regarding Edmund in their own judgmental way. As he wound through the desecrated homes, he passed by a group of persons huddled around a small fire, doing their best to stave off the bitter cold that would only worsen as the night drew on. They eyed Edmund with discernible resentment as he passed. Edmund, realizing he was still in his uniform, gave them a grim nod in return and carried on. 

Not too long ago, in his naivete, he would have mistaken the anger for ungratefulness. An ingratitude toward the services he, and the rest of the British Army, were providing them by granting protection from the rebels. But that time had long passed him by. The city was in a state of bleak decay; lack of food, unsanitary conditions, and a nonexistent local government. The citizens, who had no choice but to remain in the city when the army arrived, were the ones that suffered the most. It was ordinary people, Edmund noted, that often suffered the most. He supposed it was for this reason that Anna became a spy. 

_Anna._

Seeing her so distraught at the coffeehouse had been a surprise to him. But many things she said had been a surprise to him: the fact that she was a spy for instance. When she confessed this revelation, he very nearly laughed aloud. Of course she was a spy! It was the punchline to God’s most cruel joke of which he was the cat's-paw. The more Anna spoke, the more grief-stricken he became; it was as though she had dug up a corpse that had been freshly buried. By the time she had finished, all he wanted to know is if it had meant anything to her at all besides the bitter subterfuge it appeared to be. Something to make him feel as though the thing that he had held so dearly in the most vital of moments, a guiding star in his sky, was something more than the imaginings of a beguiled fool. There had been a moment, when Anna could only stare at him, tears running down her face, that he wondered if it _had_ been more than his own imaginings. It was cruel, he acquiesced, to force her to answer such a question in those circumstances. But had she not done something similar to him? No. _That_ was worse. The worst day of his life. Which was a bold statement considering the horrible days he’d been subjected to. 

He had managed to navigate his way, perhaps subconsciously, toward the river. He stood at the shore and watched thick blocks of ice drift past, recalling his journey back to Setauket after his escape from captivity; the boat gliding through water not unlike the river he now stood before. He had collapsed onto that skiff and stared up at the sky with a feeling of utter serenity. Due in part to his successful escape but, perhaps more importantly, because he knew he would be reunited with Anna. Edmund pitied the hopeful wretch on that skiff. 

Sorrow pressed down on him like a great weight. All of a sudden, his view of the dark river was obscured by his own tears. He wiped them away roughly. The cold was beginning to cut through his uniform; the type of chill that went straight to the bones. Ever since his imprisonment, he had a habit of dressing in more layers than required, an auxiliary armour against the bitter cold. But this invasion of the senses was sign enough for him to turn tail back to his quarters, disappointed that the walk had not put _her_ out of his mind. 

When he finally arrived back at his quarters, he merely shed the outer layers of his uniform, tossed his wig carelessly on his desk, then fell into bed. He lay awake for an eternity before miserably drifting off to sleep where even his dreams were not safe from the woman he was trying so hard to forget.

* * *

When the pale fingers of dawn pierced through Edmund’s window, he awoke feeling more exhausted than he had when he collapsed into bed the night before. He shifted so he could watch the light filter into the room. It was the hazy, impersonal sort of light expected of early winter, no warmth to be found. The house was thick with the quiet of early morning. Though, Edmund thought he could hear someone puttering quietly down the corridor. Likely another lodger in the house on their way to breakfast. 

It was in this calm that the storm returned. The events of the previous night played out in his head. The pain of it was not as sharp in the light of morning. Instead, he found there was an incurable hollowness eating away at what remained of his spirit.

He stiffly crawled out of bed and made his way over to the wash basin. Once the water had been poured, he submerged his head in the bowl, hoping to find revitalizing power in the water. It proved ineffective. He emerged from the basin, only to be greeted by his own weary image in the small mirror that hung on the wall. He was in a poor state altogether with a visible weariness that was marked by dark circles beneath his eyes and the beginnings of stubble shading his chin. He found he lacked motivation to do much about it.

After dressing, he silently ate a breakfast of bread and sliced apples before departing for an appointment regarding the cashiering of his commission, feeling a great sense of detachment the whole while. 

A day full to the brim of dry meetings ended with Edmund stopping by Rivington’s Corner for a quiet cup of coffee. He found it quite busy that late afternoon. A heated debate was being staged, loudly, near the hearth. A host of officers, gathered round another table, roared with laughter over a rather blue joke. Edmund couldn’t help but feel as though he was a dark cloud bringing doom and gloom into the jovial atmosphere. 

“Edmund?”

He turned toward the bar where Townsend stood. “Good afternoon, Robert.” 

“Are you well?” The tone in which Robert inquired indicated he believed otherwise. Edmund simply shrugged. “I am...carrying on.” 

Robert nodded. He held up a cup. “Care for a coffee?” 

“That would be most welcome.”

He seated himself at a table beside the bar, seeing that his regular spot was occupied. It didn’t take long for Robert to arrive with his coffee, sitting down in the chair across from him as he had done many times before. 

Edmund sipped at the coffee, allowing the bitterness to burn the back of his throat. He felt alive for this first time that day. He listened to the table nearby discuss the goings on of the war with little interest. Robert listened too, occasionally giving Edmund an exasperated look in reaction to ignorant statements. They carried on like this for a while.

“I found myself in an unusual position yesterday,” Robert said finally. 

“Oh?” 

“I spoke with a woman of whom I believe you have an acquaintance. Consoled her, rather.” 

Edmund tensed up. “Ah.” 

There was a mischief in Robert’s eye, a subtle waggishness that only those who knew him well would notice. He spoke, “She cares for you, or so it seemed to me.”

“I’d rather not discuss this.”

“I won’t press the topic but I would be remiss if I didn’t point it out. And you know I am never wrong.” 

“About local gossip perhaps,” Edmund snapped, “this is different.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

The jab lingered between them, leaving space for the more controversial opinions from the table nearby to leak through. “ _Send them all to the prison ships, says I!_ ” 

Guilt quickly set upon Edmund,“I’m sorry, that was uncalled for.” 

“You’re in pain. I expected nothing less,” Robert said with a shrug, “I am sorry for worsening such pain.”

Edmund shook his head. “No, no, you did nothing wrong. I’ve been in a battle with myself all day, doing everything in my power to keep her from my thoughts. Perhaps that was a mistake.” He thought for a moment. “Melancholy is the nurse of frenzy, or so the bard says.” 

Robert chuckled. “Only you could quote literature at your lowest point.” 

“I suspect Shakespeare intended for his work to be quoted in such a fashion.” 

“I suspect you’re right.” 

* * *

After an hour of conversation with Townsend, which left him in better spirits then when the day had begun, he returned home. The sun had already set when he crossed the threshold of the house. The candles in the corridor had not yet been lit, the whole house was tinged blue by the evening light and deepening shadows. He made his way up the stairs, shedding his wig before he even reached the door to his quarters, which he pushed open quite lazily before him. He had the thought that, the sooner he went to sleep, the sooner this day could end and the sooner he could sail back to England. As he turned these hopes over in his mind, it dawned upon him that there was someone sitting on his bed. He halted in his tracks. And, seemingly with no control over himself, blurted, “Anna?” 

Anna Strong was sitting on his bed. It was something out of a dream. Upon seeing him, she bolted up from the bed and took a few steps toward him. 

He recoiled, “Why are you here?” 

“I have no right to be here, that I know,”she started, her voice trembling,“But our last exchange left me unsatisfied.” 

“What do you want from me?” He said wearily.

“I want you to listen. I must speak my piece.” 

Edmund felt a great weight settle onto his shoulders. Once again, he stood at the altar of heartbreak. His face drew blank, an armor over his fragile soul. He could only give a nod. 

Anna took a deep breath. “Last night, you asked me if I had ever loved you. It was, to my mind, an unfair question because the answer was obvious to me. But I knew that anything I said would be meaningless after-” she paused, seemingly to gather herself, taking an apprehensive breath “-after what occurred between us. How could I see you, knowing that you planned to depart for England, and cause you more pain by telling you the truth?”

She took a step closer to him and he found he could not retreat. “Edmund,” she started, “before our paths crossed, my life was one of survival.” She closed her eyes for a moment, as if reliving some memory, “You can’t possibly know the indignities that I have suffered. That many of us have suffered. It’s what led me to become a spy.”

Edmund was taken aback by the boldness of admitting her crimes in a house boarded by British officers. Reflexively, he looked to the corridor behind him but, fortunately, it revealed no signs of being occupied. He turned back to Anna. 

She continued, “I kept the faith that perhaps one day I would awaken to find myself in a better world. A world where my own fears were a thing of the past. Then I met you, and, for the first time in many years, I experienced a sense of wonder. I looked to the stars and wondered what lay beyond them. When I looked at you I saw a gentle spirit that did his very best to be kind in a world that did not reward kindness.” A tear trickled down Anna’s cheek. She dabbed it away. “I took advantage of your affections and it will forever be my greatest regret. But I knew if I did not come here and tell you how I truly felt, it would haunt me for the rest of my days. So, ask me again.” 

Edmund blinked away the tears welling up in his eyes. “Pardon?”

“Ask me again.” 

It dawned on him what she meant. His heart pounded violently, sounding not unlike a cannon in his ears. He met her gaze for the first time since he entered the room. “Anna, did you ever love me?” 

“I loved you then. I love you still,” she shook her head.“I am not a woman of great words. If I were, I could speak on it more. But, Edmund, I do love you.” Anna took a step towards him, then another, until there was no space between them. She reached out and gently pulled him into a kiss. He didn’t pull away. He found himself unable to breathe. It all felt like a dream; a strange mirror of their first kiss. And yet, he felt alive, awake, for the first time in a long time. 

When Edmund did break away from the kiss, it was because of his own anxieties shouting warnings in his head, reminding him of their marital disgrace. He was awash in contradictory emotions that battled for dominance in his thoughts. 

Anna took his hand. “I know you may never forgive me. But, if you want to write, whether that be to curse me, or perhaps, to have someone to talk to, address your letters to Rivington’s Corner. They’ll find their way to me from there. And, if you never want to hear from me again then...I am very fortunate to have known you, Edmund. I wish you happiness with every prayer.” She kissed him on the cheek, then she was gone, melting into the shadows of the early evening. 

He stared at the empty corridor where she had once been. “Rivington’s Corner?”


	3. Blur

“Annie?”

Anna stared into the fire, the flames stretched upward toward the night sky as if trying to reach their fiery brothers above. She gripped the worn shawl around her shoulders, her fingernails digging into her palms. 

“Annie.” Caleb called once more in a stern but gentle voice. 

She looked up from the fire to the smuggler, who was comfortably sat beside Ben with a whittling project in hand. He tilted his head to the side, his thick eyebrows knit together in concern.“You alright, Annie? Yer lookin’ a little lost over there.”

Anna gave a weak smile. “I’m fine. Just lost in my thoughts is all.”

Caleb shaved away another section of the block of wood in his hand. The trimmings fluttered into the fire, lighting up like fireflies when they hit the coals. “Seems that everyone is tonight.”

Caleb told it true, the whole camp was abnormally quiet in its informal mourning for the death of John André and, in a different sense, mourning the loss of Benedict Arnold. Both events shadowed over the Continental army like a stretch of clouds sweeping over the sun on a warm summer’s day. Anna sensed that it had affected Ben more than most. Even now, Ben stared into the fire with a grim expression upon his face, not truly taking in much else around him. She knew him well enough to know that he was greatly troubled. 

Caleb, who sensed the same, reached into his coat pocket and brought out a flask. He held it in front of Ben. “Want a little something to keep the cold away, Benny boy?” 

Ben simply nodded and took the flask. He took a long drink, a distant look in his eye. 

“Hey, I said a little, not the whole thing!” Caleb protested. 

Ben handed it back. “I’ll get you more.”

Caleb patted him on the back, his hand lingering after the initial contact. “Don’t bother.” He held the flask out again. “Have as much as you like.” 

Ben shook his head. “No, I think I’ll turn in for the evening.” He got up from his seat. “I suggest you both do the same.” With that, he turned and strode into the darkness. 

Anna listened to the sound of his footsteps crunch through the snow then gradually fade away. 

The remaining pair didn’t speak for a time. Caleb worked at his whittling and Anna returned to watching the fire, her mind wandering every which way. She had many questions, none that could be answered, regarding Benedict Arnold. What had led to his betrayal? How would it affect the war? But, as she often found herself, she was in a position where answers were hard to come by. They often only led to more questions. Eventually, her thoughts found their way back to Edmund, as they so often did. She found herself rationing her memories of Edmund, saving them for her loneliest moments, when the dark seemed to be closing in around her. But there, sitting before the fire, absorbed in the funereal quiet of the Windsor camp, she allowed herself to remember her and Edmund’s first kiss. A gentle, warm memory that she almost felt ashamed for indulging herself in. Afterall, had she not destroyed the very thing she was fantasizing about? No, no, it wasn’t sustainable to torture herself this way. The blame would always be there, what would it hurt to indulge in a pleasant memory? But it wasn’t just a pleasant memory, she knew, it was more than that, it was all she had left of Edmund.

She took a deep breath in an attempt to stifle the ache in her chest. It was such a mournful sigh that it caught Caleb’s attention.

“Something on your mind?” he asked.

“Oh, uh, Mr. DeJong. It just occurred to me that I won’t have to deal with his arrogance here. It’s a great relief to me.” 

Caleb eyed her then went about inspecting his whittling project. “You don’t have to tell me the truth if you don’t want to. I just wanna make sure you’re alright is all.” 

Anna shrunk back a bit, feeling somewhat foolish for lying in the first place. She got up from her seat and walked around the fire, sitting next to Caleb. She rested her head on his shoulder, looping her arm through his. “I’m fine, Caleb, I promise.” 

“Ah, Annie, what would you do without me?”

“I’d be in a lot less trouble for a start.” 

Caleb laughed, it was so infectious a laugh that Anna couldn’t help but smile too. “Do you remember when I persuaded you to steal that skiff with me and Abe?” 

Anna sat up so she could look at Caleb. She laughed. “How could I forget? Ben insisted that taking a boat that small out in the dead of winter was a bad idea but you were so sure that we would be fine.” 

“We were fine!” 

“Until we got stranded in that ice bank for two days! I don’t think I’ve ever been so cold and gut-foundered in my whole life.” 

Caleb waved her off. “It wasn’t the most well thought out plan, I’ll give you that.”

“Then, of course, it was up to Ben and Reverend Tallmadge to come to our rescue.”

“Benny looked pretty smug about that whole thing,”Caleb acquiesced. 

“Well, he was right, afterall.” 

“Perhaps, but I’ll be damned if I’ll ever admit that to ‘im.” 

The two seemed to drift off for a moment in their own memories of happier days. Eventually, Anna bid Caleb a goodnight and tread through the snow back to her tent. Abigail, who had been sharing her tent since she arrived from York city, was already fast asleep in her cot. Anna slipped into her own bed and buried herself in the blankets. She was fortunate to have enough bedding to keep her warm at night, but this night in particular seemed to be nipping at her feet where the warmth was scant. As she lay there, curled up in an attempt to remain warm, she was suddenly overwhelmed by a great sadness. A sob bubbled up in her throat. She clamped a hand over her mouth but it did not stop a muted cry from passing through her lips. This was how she carried on until she finally fell asleep. 

* * *

The days carried on in a blur for Anna. The camp felt bleak at the best of times with soldiers being there one day then dead the next. She took comfort in the presence of Abigail, who brought a pleasant change of pace from regular camp life. But, eventually, Abigail too was gone, returning to York city for the sake of her son. Anna respected her decision but she longed for the comfort of Abigail’s friendship long after she had gone. 

Anna put herself to work tending to the camp’s trading post. It was a thankless job in many ways and the women she worked with had a venomous quality about them, gossiping behind her back, stealing items when they thought she wasn’t looking. Yet she did allow them a bit of sympathy as she could not blame them for their callousness in the face of such hard living. When she wasn’t working at the trading post, she did her best to soak in every bit of information she could get from Ben and Caleb when they were in camp. Ben was so occupied with his duties for general Washington that he seldom had time to discuss the ring. And Caleb seemed to be in camp even less than Ben, often being sent on covert missions that he could seldom acknowledge due to their clandestine nature. Five months had passed, the world seemed to be moving around her but she couldn’t seem to gain any ground herself. She was being left behind, selling pots and pans to those who had also been left behind, wasting away in the mud of Windsor camp. She only dared to think of Edmund every once in a while. And at night she reserved a prayer for him, wishing him safety and happiness in his new life and asking God for the same in her own days as well. She prayed for Selah too, that his success in the Continental Congress would continue, that he might find his own happiness. The latter of her prayers seemed to come true. She heard tell of Selah’s success as a congressman from those who visited Philadelphia. He had made a new life that was very different from the one they had shared together in Setauket.She often wondered if she would go with Selah if he were ever to ask her to come to Philadelphia. Every time she asked herself the question, the answer was never clear. It turned out that it was only a matter of time before Selah arrived back in her life in the form of a letter.

* * *

“What’s this?” Anna said, eyeing the neatly folded letter in Ben’s hand. 

“I received a few unexpected letters this week, that one is from Philadelphia, from Selah.” 

A pulse of shock ran through Anna. She took the letter. “You told him I’m here?”

Ben preoccupied, organizing what seemed to be an endless supply of letters on his desk, didn’t seem to hear her immediately. He looked weary, dark circles ringed his usually bright and youthful eyes. When her words did finally register, he frowned. “What? No, no, he still thinks you're in Setauket serving as a signal, but with Arnold on a rampage rounding up spies, he's fearing for your life. He’s demanding that I pull you out of there.” 

Anna grimaced. 

“I have to write him back.”Ben said, having observed her apprehension. “I have to give him something.”

“If he learns I’m in camp, he’ll send for me or come for me himself.” Panic was beginning to set in. “I won’t be able to help with the ring.” This was true, of course. What she couldn’t bring herself to say was that she couldn’t bear the idea of facing Selah. 

“Selah’s my friend, I don’t want to have to lie to him.”

“If you write that I'm safe, and don't wish to risk more than that in a letter, it won't be a lie.”

“It’s your choice.” 

“I think it’s for the best...for now.” 

Ben simply nodded. 

In an attempt to change the subject, Anna said, “Besides, I’m more worried about Abe. I know Washington wants him to stay where he is, and you have to follow orders-”

“-But Abe doesn’t.” 

She couldn’t argue. Frankly, she didn’t want to discuss Abe but it had been enough to take Ben’s mind off Selah. She pressed him,“If a boat was to just show up…”

“Anna, I told you there’s nothing I can do-

“-but-”

“-that hasn’t already been done.” 

Anna was taken aback. So, there was a plan already in place. “You didn’t tell me about this.”

“I would have told you when it was relevant, such as now for instance.”

Anna clutched Selah’s letter close to her chest. “Ben, I would appreciate it if you could clue me in on these sorts of things. I know I’m not as much use here in camp but I still aim to be part of the ring. You at least have something to do, some purpose working for general Washington. I, on the other hand, have very little. I just want to be of service to the cause.” 

Ben appeared somewhat downcast upon hearing this last remark. 

Anna continued, “You once said that we make sacrifices so that others don’t have to. I’ve made many sacrifices, including my dignity, for the sake of the cause. I just hoped you would have granted me at least a bit of respect in this regard.”

Ben rose from his chair, he rested his hands on Anna’s shoulders. In a moment of reticence, he peered down at his boots; Anna could suddenly see the bashful youth Ben had been in their childhood. He met her gaze; the young man was gone, the officer had returned. “I know this has been difficult for you. It’s been difficult for me as well. You know I’m grateful for all that you’ve done for the cause, we all are. We’re indebted to you in fact,” he paused thoughtfully, “I will grant it is my fault that it has gone this way. I want to involve you as much as I can but you have to understand that I must play these games close to the chest. For the safety of many, not just those in our ring, do you understand?” 

Anna nodded. “I don’t mean to be difficult.” 

“You’re not,” Ben sighed, “but things here are complicated just as they are in the field, as you well know.” 

She nodded again. “I understand. Well, I’m trying to.”

This seemed to relieve Ben somewhat. “Good,” he said, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to meet with general Washington.” He gathered up a stack of papers into his arms. “We’ll speak more about this later.” Ben exited the tent leaving Anna to the letter she dreaded to read. She sat down at Ben’s desk and unfolded the letter, which read:

_Benjamin,_

_I hope that this letter finds you well. I am writing to you out of concern for Anna’s safety. We received intelligence that the traitor Benedict Arnold is hunting down spies all over and my thoughts turned to Anna in Setauket. Could you find out if all is well there?_

_If you believe her to be in peril, I ask that you get her out of Setauket. Once she is out of danger, I could come and fetch her then bring her to Philadelphia where she could be safer still._

_Please write back when you are able. I await your answer and pray for the safety of you and all your men. Furthermore, I thank you for your friendship in these times._

_Sincerely,_

_Selah Strong_

When she had finished the letter, she neatly folded it back up and placed it atop the pile of correspondence Ben had received that day. The letter, while carrying a well meaning concern, had a forceful undertone that was disconcerting to her. It was that same man who had shouted at her over a tavern not that long ago. Then again, she couldn’t really be contentious over his worry; they were husband and wife, bound together by marriage and the sense of duty that came with that, after all. But was that all that they were? She went back and forth between these ruminations until she became irritated with herself and pushed the thoughts aside. It was for the best that Selah believed she was in Setauket, best for both of them, really. She was resolute in her decision. Perhaps, when things had calmed down, she could begin a dialogue with Selah but that would have to wait. 

As she sat there, thinking about the ever widening gap between her and Selah, one particular letter among the pile addressed to Ben caught her attention. It had Anna’s name on it. She peaked out the tent door to see if Ben was nearby then, gently, pulled the letter out from the stack, careful not to topple the whole thing. Sure enough, it was addressed to Mrs. Anna Strong of Setauket in neat handwriting. She opened the letter and gasped upon laying eyes on the identity of the sender, whose signature was inscribed with a flourish at the end of the letter as simply: _Edmund._

She looked around, half-expecting someone to jump out from some hiding place and tell her it was all a joke at her expense, but it did not happen. Without much thought, she snatched up the letter and hurried to her tent, taking great care to not appear suspicious under the prying eyes of the camp. Once she was safely sequestered in her tent, she began to read...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, special thanks to my beta reader ASheepsLife!


	4. Anne Bonny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so sorry for the long absence! Life got in the way. But we are back with an emotionally heavy chapter that I hope was worth the wait for you guys. Thank you so much for the comments and support thus far, it's been a great motivator for sure.  
> Thank you as always to my fantastic beta [ ASheepsLife!](/users/ASheepsLife/)

_Dear Anna,_

_It was not all that long ago that you stood before me and spoke the truth that lay in your heart. It was an act of tremendous courage, one that I, in my own timidity, could not do in such a situation. I have always been more at ease with a pen and paper. As it happens, I am faced with a great amount of time and an ample supply of writing materials, therefore, I can finally attempt my own form of courage._

_After our wedding, words that ache to write even now, I was thrown into a melancholy which was wholly inescapable. I wanted to hate you but found that it was not possible. You had your reasons for what you had done, you admitted it yourself. But our engagement was a farce and I told myself that so too were the feelings we shared. After that, I wished only for solitude, a remote place to grieve and perhaps, someday, rebuild myself to resemble a facsimile of the man I had once been. Little did I know that this could never be for reasons that went beyond our own liaison. I sought to be alone. I believed, falsely, that cashiering my commission would be the key to this solitude I so desired._

_I believe that God has a dark sense of humor. I believe this because, upon returning to England, I attempted to cashier my commission and found I was unable to do so as the commission was worth very little. Instead, I was given another posting, higher ranking, but one that is considered entirely pointless not only in England but in the colonies as well. It was a month before I was expedited upon a ship back to the colonies. The isolation I desired was put upon me in the unwanted form of dreadful creaking boards, perpetually drunk crewmen and the sharp salty air of the Atlantic. It is from the hold of said ship that I write to you. A storm has churned our fair waters for days now, sending sheets of icy rain to seep into every dry thing on the ship, including the parchment of the letter you currently read, assuming we make it out of the storm alive._

_At any rate, all these events are not even the whole of it, as the post I have been assigned is one that will either cause you to laugh at its irony or to never contact me again. Perhaps it will be both. I am sure you have heard news of the death of John Andr_ _é_ _. His post was left empty for many months because no one would replace the ill-fated man. That is, until I foolishly requested to cashier my commission. Yes, you are reading correctly, I am the new head of intelligence for the Royal Army. A title that appears impressive on a cosmetic level but, if one were to examine further, one would find that the post’s credibility has been disregarded, even before André’s death. It is a trap that I have fallen into head first with only one comfort for my descent: that there is a satisfactory amount of compensation for my trouble. It is a greedy comfort but in my current situation I accept assuagement wherever I am able. Didn’t I tell you God had a dark sense of humor? I am quietly chuckling to myself at the bitter comedy. Here I stand above a pit of vipers, having just crawled out and now, I am to be thrown right back in again._

_Oh Anna, I’m sure you are wondering why I wrote to you after all that has happened between us, but the truth is that I wanted to speak my own piece. You must understand that I do not harbour any malice toward you after what transpired, far from it. I hope, earnestly, that you are healthy and living well. I expect this letter will be of some shock to you. You are, of course, not under no obligation to reply. I thank you for allowing me to entertain these nonsensical ramblings and I wish you health and happiness._

_Sincerely,_

_Edmund_

The initial shock of reading Edmund’s letter lasted a full day . Anna milled about the camp like a woman in a dream. In her time watching over the trade post, she sat listening to pots and pans clanging together in the frigid wind, to soldiers shouting orders and Mrs. Hester and Barnes cluck like hens about camp gossip, with a detached calm. 

She thought of Edmund. It felt obscene to think of him for such a sustained period but it could not be helped. He must have returned from England by now, how else could the letter have reached her? That meant that he was in York city and had been for some time. The idea of it sent Anna’s heart into thunderous palpitations. It was selfish to delight in his return, it was almost too good to be true. So much so that she wondered if it was a trap, a ploy at gaining information on the Continental army. Would Edmund do that? She was unsure, though guilt swiftly set upon her for even entertaining the notion. However, it was not foolish to show a healthy amount of suspicion in her line of work. 

Yet, the very moment she was free of her trade post duties, she strode to Ben’s tent, ignoring the snickers of her gossip mongering colleagues and requested the use of his writing desk. 

“What for?” 

“I wish to write a few letters to some friends, that’s all.” 

“In Setauket?” 

“No, York city.” 

Ben sat up a little in his chair. “York city?” 

She shrank a little. “Oh, I have a friend with whom I used to correspond with about sewing. Nothing very interesting, I’m afraid. She lived briefly in Setauket before moving to York city with her husband. It’s silly but I miss the comfort of her letters.” She winced internally. Lying to Ben was unpleasant but in this circumstance, just this one time, she would push past her own conscience. 

Ben weighed her answer then got up from his desk. “Take your time. I need a walk to clear my head anyway.” 

She gave him a kiss on the cheek, then took his seat. She waited until Ben had gathered his things and hurried off toward General Washington’s tent, then she began to write…

_Dear Edmund,_

_I am sure you can imagine my astonishment at receiving your correspondence. And for the sake of honesty, I must confess that given my own position in the Continental army and your position in the British army, I wondered whether your letter was some trick. This alone is evidence that I’ve been in this camp too long, suspicion is contagious around here, though often it is for good reason._

_I am deeply sorry to hear of your current predicament, to be forced away from home when you’ve come so close to it is an agony I could not imagine. But, I can only assume that you've made it back across the Atlantic in one piece, since I am now reading this letter. I am relieved you have arrived safely; in these strange days, we must take our blessings where we find them. As for your new posting, allow me to deliver to you vital intelligence: the latrines in camp are hard to dig given the icy ground and the women of the camp are constantly speaking about how they dislike someone called Anna Strong. I do hope this is useful information, it must be for somebody, certainly not myself._

_In all seriousness, I must tell you that I think of our wedding day more than I would care to admit, perhaps to punish myself, I don’t know. A war rages within my soul most days: one faction tries its best to free me from my own guilt, assures me that I did all I could not only for you but for everyone in my life. The other faction is darker, vindictive even. It is the blame I put upon my own shoulders. It roars for penitence and feeds on my pain. Try as I might, I cannot negotiate peace between them, though I aim to one day._

_I don’t believe I’ve ever been more angry with Abraham in my life for what he did. When I was forced to leave Setauket, a part of me was relieved to gain some distance from him after the unpleasantness. He has turned bitter, caught the disease of suspicion I mentioned earlier. It cannot be helped, I suppose. But his betrayal, his stubbornness, has severed our friendship in ways I cannot fully describe. It must be said that I do not mention Abe to distance myself from blame, it is only that I hold so many words inside that cannot find their way out, not even to my closest friends here. I find myself behaving not unlike a tree that is sagging beneath the weight of too much snow. A tired, wilting thing. It is a lonely existence. For your own sake, I hope that you do not feel the same way._

_Thank you for your wishes of health. I am well despite the various illnesses passing through the camp. By now, I’m sure you’ve arrived in York city, ideally in one piece. I have been told that the city is in a state of disarray, is it true? Is your post as overlooked as you described? I suppose you may not be able to answer but I ache for news beyond the deaths of soldiers and camp gossip I hear every day. I joke about camp conditions but they are bleak, particularly for those families that the soldiers left behind. If this is the last letter we exchange, I pray for your safety and health just as you so kindly thought of mine._

_-Anna_

Once she had finished, she surreptitiously slipped her reply into Ben’s stack of correspondence meant to be sent out later that week then exited the tent. She spent the rest of day anxiously glancing at Ben’s tent, waiting for him to storm over and confront her over writing to a British officer. But it never happened. He was too busy darting around the camp on errands for General Washington. Her message to Edmund, something that could easily be regarded as treason, went unnoticed. All Anna could do was wait for a reply which, it occurred to her, could have her waiting forever. As it turned out, forever was only a fortnight. A letter arrived from York, via the Rivington Corner, addressed to ‘Mrs. Anna Strong’ just as before.

_Dear Anna,_

_You have deduced correctly! I arrived in York city after a tumultuous two months on the Atlantic. It was a journey I never hope to relive in all of my days. The waves were monstrous dark creatures that threatened to drag us into their jaws at any moment. By the grace of God, we arrived a little worse for wear and soaked to the bone. I might even go so far as to say I was happy to see York city. This joy did not last, of course._

_York city is every bit as anarchic as it was when I departed from it five months ago. And, I can reveal that, yes, the office of the head of intelligence consists of cobwebs, dust and nothing else. But with the information you provided in your letter, perhaps I can, at last, provide my superiors with worthwhile information. (This, of course, is a jest, it should be made clear). Despite my own exhaustion, upon arrival, I sent my first letter to you in the strange manner you described by means of Mr. Townsend at the Rivington Corner. I must confess, due to my travel weary mind, it did not occur to me to send you an updated letter along with my first. A foolish mistake on my part._

_I was surprised to read that you had severed your ties in Setauket and to Mr. Woodhull. I’m sure that was a very difficult thing to do, as you hold Setauket so close to your heart. As for Mr. Woodhull and my sentiments toward him-well-finding forgiveness for a man who attempted to end my life is not a simple matter. I will never see eye to eye with the man, but my anger toward him feels strangely distant for reasons beyond me. Perhaps I am tired of dwelling upon feelings of hatred, I don’t know._

_It is on that note that I must tell you: you must endeavor to not blame yourself. I like to think that you and I have at least come to some sort of understanding regarding what transpired. I believe to punish yourself in this way is not only unjust, but a form of self-flagellation that you do not deserve._

_Certainly, it is easy for me to write these things but to implement them is a different matter. I speak from a place of experience in this regard. There are many things I have done here in the colonies that I would take back if I were able. Were I to list every regret, this letter would be the length of a book, but I often revisit the battle of Setauket. One of my greatest regrets is instructing the digging up of Setauket’s tombstones. In retrospect, I am unable to determine if it was worth the sacrifice._

_Furthermore, it occurs to me that the likes of you and I will be caught in this back and forth for the rest of our days. This war has dealt us all many scars both outward and inward. In my case, it is both. And though it is silly of me, if I were to take one good thing away from this war, it is certainly our friendship. I am compelled to add that receiving your letter put a joy in me that I had not experienced in many months, so I must thank you for that._

_I hope to read another letter from you in the near future if you are comfortable with our continued correspondence. I am finding it a relief from the stresses of my current appointment, and heartening to read the wonderful words you claim to be unskilled in._

_All the best,_

_Edmund_

* * *

Edmund’s letter left Anna in a contemplative mood. So much so that she chose to take a stroll in the woods around the camp to allow herself privacy to think in peace. She did this often, particularly when she was feeling overwhelmed. The forest provided a calm that she could not find in camp.

Anna donned an extra pair of stockings, her grey wool cloak and set off into the woods. As she wove through the trees, the sounds of the camp faded away. The snow grew deeper, well above her knees, as she tramped down the only partially cleared path. It was evident that few people used it. Anna was likely the first to traverse it in weeks. She held up her dress to avoid getting it caked too thickly in snow. She carried on in this manner for a mile at least before she grew tired and sat down on a fallen tree beside the trail. 

It was a fine day for a walk. The sun had burned through the thin layer of clouds from the morning and the forest was aglow from its light. Sunbeams stretched out through snowy boughs and lit the snow like shimmering gold. A red cardinal chirped cheerfully as it hopped around a berry bush looking for low hanging fruit to eat. Snow, melting slightly under the direct sunlight, slid off of a nearby tree branch and landed on the ground with an unceremonious _plop._ Anna took in the pristine tableau for a while, reveling in the quiet. 

After a while, she brought Edmund’s letter out of her pocket. She reread it for what must have been the tenth time. The tone of the letter, despite Edmund’s amusing banter, was somber, tormented. She couldn’t imagine how his time in captivity affected him, let alone events like the battle of Setauket. When he returned from captivity, he had hidden the trauma of it away, perhaps to, in his own way, shield her and the others from the horrors he experienced. She sighed aloud at the thought. It was so like Edmund, always worried about others, never himself. 

One passage in the letter stood out: “ _if I were to take one good thing away from this war, it is certainly our friendship”._ The word ‘friendship’ vexed her. She wondered if he was holding himself back, and if so, why? He was fully aware of the affection she had for him. Did he not feel the same? It may be that the damage between them was too extensive to repair. He was too hurt to reciprocate. It was understandable, she supposed, but had he not been the one to first write to _her?_ She had left him in York city with the expectation that they would never speak again. And now, _he_ had rekindled their relationship, such as it was. It was difficult to determine what his intentions were. 

Then a solution presented itself, shouting out as if she had been ignoring it the whole time: why not ask him? The boldness of it was a novel concept. To be truly vulnerable with Edmund was something she had only recently become used to. 

She was thrown from her musings when a large deer strode out from the treeline. Its antlers spanned into many elegant prongs, more than Anna had seen on any deer around Setauket. She feared it would run away upon spotting her but it paid her no mind. It went about nibbling on the grass jutting up out of the snow, occasionally glancing over at her to ensure she remained seated. 

As Anna observed the scene, she decided that she should not confront Edmund about his intentions. At least, not yet anyway. No, she would wait, savour the letters and pray that she did not scare him off. Or was _that_ foolish? She wished she could discuss the issue with Ben; the situation begged for his even-keeled logic. But it was not possible. Deep down, she knew she was afraid to hear Edmunds answer. That he was just writing her out of boredom, or worse, to find out about Continental army intelligence. 

The distant sound of a cannon being fired shook the forest, prompting the deer to race back into the safety of the thick underbrush.   
Anna sighed. “Drills.” 

She got up from her seat and tramped the snowy mile back to camp. 

* * *

_Edmund,_

_I was glad to hear my intelligence could be of some use. Please inform me if I can provide any similar information in the future, I possess it in spades. Rumor has it that the horses are unsatisfied with the dryness of the hay._

_I think you should take some of your own advice and, while you admittedly did play an iniquitous role in the battle of Setauket, you must take comfort in two insights. The first is that the Edmund who ordered the digging up of those tombstones is different from the Edmund whom I now write. The second, is that, as you say, the war has dealt us all scars. There are many things that I regret and will continue to regret for my whole life. What I mean to say is that we have all committed acts that we had no desire to do, so you are, at the very least, in good company. This may not have turned out as encouraging as I aimed for it to be but please know that you are not alone._

_How are affairs in the offices of the head of intelligence? As agonizing as before? I can understand being in a position where you feel aimless because I am in that very position myself._

_These days, my mind often turns to Setauket. I dearly miss the smell of the ocean and the cry of the seagulls as they whip through the wind across the Long Island sound. I crave to see the faces of those that I’ve known all my life, wave ‘hello’ to them as I walk through town on errands. I even long for the sour smell of the tavern and the raucous singing of drunkards. I imagine you surely must miss England. What do you think of when you think of home? I would be curious to hear what it is like._

_I am praying for your continued good health and peace of mind._

_Anna_

When Anna did receive a response from Edmund, he lamented his struggles in York city, described his home in England and how much he missed the thick fog of Scotland. She re-read the letter many times and imagined being in Scotland with Edmund, the two of them standing together in the fog. She received many such letters in the coming months. He wrote of how he wished to have a piano in his lodgings and how much he missed their music lessons. She remarked that she could not mourn his dishonest actions as head of intelligence seeing as it only helped the Continental efforts. She told him of her favorite memories of home and how she too dearly wished to play the piano, even if she was still inexperienced. She wrote him with the fervor of a young lover out of one of Shakespeare’s plays, hungry for every word. And though, to Anna, it was obvious they cared deeply for each other, she did not make these feelings known in her letters out of an unspoken terror that they would hurt each other as before.

Though, try as she might, her affection for one another began to seep through the cracks: a complement here, a fond memory they shared there, a remark about an event her day that made her think of Edmund. But she trod with care, gently repairing the damage that had been done and, trying to know Edmund in a way she never had before.

But the dreamy bubble that she occupied on paper could not keep her from worrying about the ever growing unrest in Windsor camp. As it turned out, the discontent was growing to a boiling point. 

* * *

Anna hurried alongside Colonel Hamilton, trying to keep up with his rapidly paced gait. 

“Colonel Hamilton, I fear the discontent among the soldiers is more than just a rumor. There are not only grievances with the enlisted men but among the officers as well. I am concerned about what it might lead to.” 

He gave her a sideways glance. “Perhaps they should revolt then.”

Anna stopped in her tracks. “I don’t understand...” 

Hamilton stopped at the foot of the stairs at the front of General Washington’s office, adjusting the saddle bag slung over his shoulder. “I have written to Congress about the needs of this army more times than I can count. How can we expect them to listen to us when they don't even listen to each other?” 

She scoffed bitterly. “They can’t all be like that.”

Hamilton turned to ascend the steps. “Madam, you do not know these men like I do.”

He was wrong, there was one man in congress she knew intimately well. The words came tumbling out of her mouth before she could consider them. “My husband serves in Congress, sir.” The word _husband_ felt unfamiliar in her mouth.

Hamilton regarded her; his striking eyes, so keen as to border on omniscience, seemed to register Anna’s thoughts and then immediately disregard them. Which was quite typical of Hamilton, really. “What do you need me for then? Or the general? You can write to Congress yourself and secure the bounties and back pay we need to forestall mutiny.” Having said the final word, as he so often did, Hamilton sprung up the steps and into the house. 

Anna was left alone, looking up at the empty windows, hoping beyond hope that perhaps General Washington had overheard and was rushing to the rescue. 

Of course, this was nonsensical, she did not see Washington, nor did she even see signs of Colonel Hamilton. The house appeared as empty as before. No one was going to help them, not in this camp anyway. A dizzy feeling came over Anna as Colonel Hamilton’s words sank in. How had she not thought to write Selah? It seemed so obvious now, yet she had ruled it out many months ago. And why? Well, she knew why but couldn’t bring herself to even think of it. A nagging feeling bit at her, the distinct feeling that she had made a mistake. 

Anna finally turned away from the building’s unyielding grey façade and hurried back through the maze of tents with a specific destination in mind: the tent of one Caleb Brewster.

* * *

Anna burst into Caleb’s tent. “I need to talk to you.”

Caleb, who had been reclined in his bed with a book in one hand and an apple in the other, sat up with a start. “Christ, Annie! Give a man some warning next time. What if I had been indecent or somethin’ in here.”

Anna waved him off. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.” 

Caleb gave a resigned sigh. “Is there something the matter?” 

She stared at him. Where could she begin? There was so much to say. Without meaning to, she began to laugh; it was the type of mirth that came from deep inside. Laughter reserved only for unfortunate situations such as this. She sat down beside Caleb on his cot and rested her face in her hands. Her shoulders trembled with every wave of giggling. 

“Are you losing your mind?” Caleb asked, biting into the apple. “Should I be worried?”

“No more than anyone else here,” Anna said, finally composed. “Oh, Caleb, I’m stuck on an ice bank with no one to come and save me.” 

“Oh?” 

“It’s a long story. But I believe that I have a difficult decision to make. And before I do, I must confide in you about a matter that is sensitive in nature.” 

Caleb tilted his head to one side inquisitively. “Are you in trouble or somethin’?”

“In a manner of speaking, I suppose I am.” 

Caleb stared at her. “Well?”

She thought she would start out at the beginning but those were not the words that passed through her lips. “Do you recall, Major Hewlett?” To say his name aloud felt like sweet music. She betrayed nothing. 

“That uptight English fella?”

“Yes.” 

“What about him?”

Anna took a deep breath. “You know of what occurred at the wedding.”

Caleb nodded. 

“But there’s more to it than you know, than anyone knows.” She didn’t wait for a response from Caleb, she continued, “When I jumped from that boat, I did it for the cause. When the opportunity to befriend Major Hewlett arose, I did that for the cause as well. But, then, as I became acquainted with the man, I was taken by surprise. Where I expected a rigid, discourteous officer, I found a compassionate heart and intelligent mind. And more importantly, in him, I found a sense of wonder in myself that I had long hidden away.” She paused, bracing herself for what would follow. “I fell in love with the Major.” She did not dare look to see Caleb’s expression. She carried on as though if she didn’t say everything that was on her mind, then they would neve be said to anyone. “I tried to deny it, even to myself as it was-is, such a contradiction to everything in my life but it was to no avail. I love him.” 

She finally met Caleb’s eyes and found them searching for meaning. She went on the defensive.

“Setauket was lonely after I swam back shore. People who I had once called friends began to treat me with suspicion, even malice in some cases for who or what they believed me to be. Judge Woodhull, a man who had treated me like a daughter in my childhood, turned on me as a dog does against a stranger. And Abe…” Anna sighed. “Well, we weren’t seeing eye to eye on much of anything. Abe threw himself headlong into the cause and I believe his perspective was altered because of it. He was too involved to think clearly. Perhaps he was jealous too.”

Anna caught Caleb’s expression perk up. 

She laughed bitterly. “Abe and I were briefly caught up in our passions, perhaps the thrill of being spies or our own boredom took hold but we did have an affair at one time but it didn’t last, our real lives came knocking.”

“Ben owes me some money,” Caleb muttered. 

Anna slapped his arm like an irritated sibling. She carried on. “Abe eventually turned on me too, in his way. I felt terribly for Mary, who’s trusted I had betrayed with my actions. And with the way Judge Woodhull looked at me, I think sometimes I wondered if he knew too. When Abe was imprisoned and I was alone with the Woodhulls in that big house, with Judge Woodhull watching my every move, I believe it is perhaps the loneliest I have ever been in my whole life. The halls were familiar, but where they had once been warm and full of life, they were cold and unwelcoming. Everything around me seemed to be.” Anna found it difficult to speak through what she realized had turned to stifled sobs. “I believe I realized how divided we had all become in this war. How the lines drawn in the sand might in fact be walls of stone.” She wiped away a hot tear speeding down her cheek. “I had only one comfort in all of it: Edmund. He didn’t didn’t hear the rumors, notice the feuds, or see cutting looks; he was too busy gazing up at the stars.” She sniffed. “But even he was taken away. And then I was truly alone. I could not weep for myself, or for him, nor for poor Abe, who also was imprisoned. I had only time to save them both. All with the weight of judgement on my back from those who assumed the worst of me.” 

It was then that Anna began to weep in a way she hadn’t since she was a small girl. She rests her face on Caleb's shoulder. She felt his arms wrap around her and hold her close. His rough hands began to gently stroke her hair. 

“It’s alright,” Caleb said in a low voice, “it’s alright.” 

Anna closed her eyes and took in the calming smell of whiskey, sweat and smoke in Caleb’s clothes. Then she let herself cry for what felt like a long while. 

* * *

When she had finally stopped crying, Caleb poured them both a cup of whiskey. They drank in silence, listening to the sounds of the camp.

Finally Caleb said, “I’m sorry you had to go through all that.” 

“We all face our own battles,” she said. 

“Doesn’t mean they don’t wound us.” 

She gave an acquiescing nod. “I was worried you’d hate me for what I said.”

“How the hell could I judge you? S’not my place.” 

“Still,” she said, “I am sure you’ve wondered about Selah by now.” 

Caleb shrugged. “Probably not as much as you have.”

She nodded. “I spent many nights worrying and considering all of this in regard to our marriage. Before the war, our marriage was a functional one. Which, from my parents perspective, was all it need be. And I accepted it. I don’t know if I was happy but we had fine enough circumstance. That’s the most one can ask for, a roof over our heads, food on the table. There are worse lots in life. When Selah was taken away, I mourned him, he was my husband after all. But--” Anna trailed off. Guilt seized her. “I suppose, it dawned on me that our marriage is one of duty; duty to our country, to our families, to God. There are many like ours. But the longer we have been apart, the less I have wanted to return to it. We are not the same people that we were before the war, we’ve both seen too much to go back. And, God forgive me, it is because of this that I do not believe Selah and I have a future. Which brings me to the current predicament.” 

She felt utterly uneasy in her own skin by then. She stood and began to slowly pace a short distance. “It is obvious that the Windsor camp is headed for mutiny, anyone could see that. What the soldiers need is supplies and better pay. And who could get that? "She glanced at Caleb.

He blinked. “Well, er, congress, I sup-” he stopped, the situation suddenly made clear to him. “Ahh, I see.”

Anna nodded. “Now I ask myself: do I write Selah for the sake of the soldiers? Is it not disingenuous of me to take advantage of his position when I am having doubts in our marriage? If you can even call it that now. It is all my fault, I know. I torture myself everyday over it. But what do I do Caleb?” She had stopped pacing by then, her focus entirely on her flabbergasted friend. “Please.”

He thought for a moment. “I think you should write Selah.”

Anna suppressed the sick feeling in her stomach and finished off her drink. “I’ve been selfish,” she said.

“I wouldn’t say that.” 

“Well, I would,” Anna said, “I know that I must write Selah but I don’t think I have the spirit in me to do so.”

Caleb thought for a moment. “Ya know Annie, I don’t believe fer one second that you don’t have the spirit in you to do anything you put yer mind to.”

Anna smiled. She looked down at her feet bashfully. 

Caleb continued, “This sort of thing isn’t simple, not sure it’s meant to be. But I suppose if you don’t write Selah, who will?” 

Anna knew the answer. She sighed.

“The heart is a finicky bastard sometimes,” Caleb added, “Believe me, I know. I really do.” There was a mournful tone to his voice that made Anna wonder just how Caleb knew but she didn’t pry. He continued, “Course, I can’t pretend to know how you could love some English fella. But he’s not coming back is he?” 

It was a question that was always on Anna’s mind but one that did not have a simple answer. She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“So either you can move forward with Selah or you can seek out a divorce once the war is over, if that’s even possible.” He chuckled, “Or you can take off on the high seas as Anne Bonny.” 

Anna laughed. “That last one sounds fine to me.” Her smile faded. “I don’t know what will happen between Selah and I but I will write him.” 

“Good,” Caleb said, “And you know, if he ends up coming to camp, you can at least talk.” 

“That may be just what we need.”


End file.
